This Isn't The Breakfast Club
by snoozin81
Summary: Coach Sylvester's idea of chaperoning detention is leaving a Cheerio in charge. He's glad it's not Quinn, she's the whole reason he's missing football practice to begin with, but he kind of wishes it wasn't Santana either.


Coach Sylvester's idea of chaperoning detention is leaving a Cheerio in charge. He's glad it's not Quinn, she's the whole reason he's missing football practice to begin with, but he kind of wishes it wasn't Santana either. She kind of scares the crap out of him.

She's sitting on top of the teacher's desk, filing her nails, and she only stops long enough to smirk at him and point the emery board at the desk directly in front of her. He guesses that's her way of telling him to take a seat so he does.

"Killer right hook you've got there Rocky. I can't remember the last time I saw Finn cry so hard."

He winces because he hadn't really meant to hit Finn, it just kind of happened—

"_I'm sorry Sam but I think I'm still in love with Finn."_

_Pow!_

—The guy walked in at the wrong moment and he sort of just lost control.

He rubs a hand across the back of his neck because he doesn't know what to say. He knows he shouldn't have resorted to violence but he's not going to apologize for it either.

"You," Santana says finally looking up from her nails in order to address the other student in the room. "Take a hike."

Sam looks over his shoulder as the guy squeaks, "Wha—what?" and he's kind of glad he's not the only dude at McKinley that's terrified of Santana.

"No hablo ingles?" Santana snaps snidely. "I said get out. You're off the hook today."

The guy opens his mouth to protest further but Sam shakes his head, nods towards the door, and the guys quick to gather his things and leave. "Does that mean I can go too?" Sam asks turning back towards the front of the room. If he hurries he might still be able to make practice.

She shakes her head no and leans back on her hands, letting her knees drift apart. He can see straight up her skirt, see that she's not wearing the red spanks that are part of the uniform. "What's your hurry?" she asks shifting her hips forward just enough that her skirt rides a little further up her thighs.

Suddenly getting to practice really isn't that important because she's drawing her fingertips up the inside of her leg, pushing back the red and white pleats of her skirt, and touching herself. His mouth falls open as she slides her fingers along her slick fold, letting her thumb stroke over her clit.

His brain shuts off, seriously, there's like _no_ coherent thought going on in there whatsoever and his hand rubs across the fly of his jeans, easing the ache in his dick. He tries to ignore the satisfied smirk that's curling Santana's lips. She's sadistic, there's no doubt about that, but she's hot too—gorgeous, really and she apparently has no inhibition because the door's wide open and she doesn't seem to care.

She pulls her foot up onto the desk, splaying her legs wide, and he groans as she pushes two fingers inside herself, pumping them in and out. Moisture glistens on her inner thighs and he kind of wonders how she'd taste on his tongue.

He's not brave enough to actually try, knowing Santana she'd probably strangle him with her leg muscles or something, but he does allow himself to fumble with his fly and push his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. He strokes himself, somehow managing to match her rhythm—pushing up into his hand as she pushes in deep and sinking back into his chair as she withdrawals her fingers. He's in awe at how well she seems to know her own body, how she's able to bring herself to the brink only to take a step back—each stroke confident and self-assured.

He comes against the palm of his hand and she follows shortly after, her entire body convulsing, chest rising and falling with deep, haggard breaths. He tucks himself back into his jeans as she recovers, sliding off the desk and straightening her skirt. He's not too surprised when she struts out of the room without so much as a look back, he's kind of relieved actually.


End file.
